Resident Evil: Suspense
by sanchez C
Summary: Six individuals trapped in Raccoon City. An operative working in the shadows, a mercenary trying to salvage a botched rescue mission, former assassin fighting to save a loved one, and three average citizens just trying to make it out alive.
1. Prologue

As the sun was setting a cool breeze blew through Raccoon City. Standing on a rooftop was a man dressed in black, cold gray eyes staring out across the city. Mark .K Lorrens was his name, and he knew more about what was going on than the inhabitants of the city. Half the population lived in fear of a new terror that stalked the streets during the night hours.

It all started with mutilated corpses turning up along the rivers and disappearances of hikers on the trails winding through the Arklay Mountains. Reports of cannibalism and masked axe wielding figure began leaking to the press. Responding to this a special branch of the Raccoon City Police Department was sent in to investigate. Special Tactics and Rescue Services; also known as S.T.A.R.S.

It might have seemed like a good idea to the average citizen, but it was a grave tactical error. Bravo team was the first sent in. The senior members well aware of the danger, but unknowing of what they would face. Contact was lost after reporting engine trouble and a emergency landing; resulting in Alpha team's deployment. Out of the twelve members only five returned.

With them came tales of zombies, mutants, and other bio weapons created by the pharmaceutical corporation know as Umbrella. Their stories were considered the result of hallucination caused by toxins from mountain vegetation. S.T.A.R.S. was officially disbanded and replaced by the Select Police Force. Three of the survivors remained in the US and two traveled to Europe.

Two months had passed after the Arklay incident. Many more reports of cannibalism and "monsters" drifted through the town. Most of them had been filed away as simple assault, murder, and hysteria. It wasn't that the local police were incompetent. Their hands were tied due to the chief of police who's pockets were filled by the Umbrella Corporation. All of which would lead to Raccoon City's demise.

How did a man such as himself know this? Not only was he employed by Umbrella. He was also head of the Umbrella Security Service, preferring to work alone than be stuck with a platoon of other U.S.S. members. "Never would have happened if it weren't for those two fools." he muttered. The revenge of Marcus was the spark causing the outbreak. Failure of second U.S.S. deployment involving Birkin was gasoline. Both incidents leaving a black mark on the record of his unit.

All that would change though; tonight all hell would break loose. The T-Virus had saturated Raccoon City for nearly a week. U.B.C.S. and U.S. Army activity would be overlooked by his men. While combat data was collected he would report directly to Dr. Thorpe and escort him to the extraction point. Other operatives would dispose of anything tying Umbrella to the outbreak within Raccoon. Although government reprisal wasn't that much of an issue.

Those at the helm of Umbrella were far too intelligent to lose everything they had worked so hard to achieve. Their safety net was a skeleton made up of shell companies, hidden bank accounts, secret trusts, and much more. He knew it would take a thousand lawyers, accountants, and a super computer to sort through all that mess in order to tie everything together. Umbrella might fall, but it would not be finished off.

_As I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil. _


	2. Out of The Frying Pan Into The Fire

September 26, 1998 7:00 PM

For the past two days Alex Paulson had been holed up inside of his three room apartment. Nothing for company except a police scanner, old TV, and his guns. He had seen no sign of any rescue personnel. The streets outside the building were pretty quiet, but all the other tenants had left for family or remained locked up in their apartments. Luckily the power was still on and no one infected by the mysterious disease had shown up on their door step. Any entrance on the first floor leading outside had been locked up.

Judging by various news stations Raccoon City was placed under quarantine by the United States Government and the army had been sent in to investigate. Due to the intensity of the riots in progress the RPD authorized the use of lethal force by officers. Various radio conversations he heard on the scanner said all attempts to contain the rioting within the city had failed. What struck him as weird was the fact that officers had resorted to using the term zombie. All of which didn't make him feel any more safe.

_Food is running out and there isn't any safe water left,_ he thought. All the leftovers in the refrigerator had been the first to go. Three gallon jugs had been filled with water as soon as the emergency had been declared. All of it filtered and boiled to purify it. He was down to half a gallon. Only option available was to head out on foot and try to make it to a police check point. The police had already started closing off areas they couldn't control. It was possible they had pulled out of the downtown area entirely.

Of course he couldn't just waltz out with a pistol and Rambo mindset. Walking into the bedroom one would immediately notice a rifle lying on the bed. It was a slightly used Ruger Mini-14 semi-automatic rifle. Along with it were four ten round and three forty round detachable magazines. More of the latter would have been preferred except the semi-automatic assault weapon ban had made them a little hard to come by. Not to mention all high capacity magazines sold by Ruger were intended for law enforcement. Each magazine was loaded, two of them with 5.56 steel core ammunition, and the rest with .223 soft point. seven of the cartridges were tracers. Loaded second from last.

Kicking a pile of clothes out of the way he found exactly what he was looking for. From underneath the bed he pulled out an old card board box and dumped it's contents next to the rifle. One patrol belt and three magazine pouches. Picked up from a gun show a few years ago. On top of that a fifty round bandoleer with thirty-eight caliber loops and leather holster. Custom made for his grandfather and then passed onto him. Along with three twenty-round boxes of .357 jacketed-hollow points. A canteen, folding knife, and GI flashlight topped it all off.

After loading up the bandoleer, strapping on the belt, pocketing the extra .357 cartridges he slung the Mini-14 on his shoulder and walked back into the living room. His grandfather's Ruger GP100 was sitting on the desk. Plastic jug of water sitting nearby. _Last of anything safe to drink,_ he thought filling up the canteen. Making sure everything was turned off he picked up the revolver and started for the door. Grabbing a jacket on the way out. With October around the corner it was going to be a cold September night.

The hall was devoid of any human activity. Every door closed and probably locked. All that could be heard was the sound of someone coming down the stairs. It was an older man in blue jeans and a dark red jacket. Didn't take long to recognize him. The custodian, he'd seen him around the building a few times. Never talked to him though. "I'd turn around and head back up the stairs if I were you." Alex said. He felt a sick to his stomach when the man turned to look his way. It looked like he had been mauled by a dog. Strips of flesh hung in loose ribbons.

The man looked at him then started down the stairs. A raspy moan escaped his lips. "Don't come any closer" Alex warned. The man kept shambling toward him. What is the matter with that gun, he thought. Last thing he wanted to do was shoot someone, but if he had to he certainly would. Very slowly he started backing away to put more room between him and the man.

"Stop right now! Do not move!" he shouted pulling the hammer back. No sign of his assailant stopping. He took aim at the center of the man's chest and squeezed the trigger. The shot rang out through the building. Though he had flinched the shot was off a five inches to the left. The bullet hit the man, punched through the lung, the liver, and tore through his back. It only caused him to pause for a moment before continuing forward.

Alex didn't know why it didn't stop him. That much trauma to those organs should have put him on the ground. Distance between them was quickly diminishing. He took aim again, dead center just a few inches below the throat. This time he didn't flinch. The bullet hit just an inch higher than intended, tore through the chest cavity hitting the spine, and dropping him on the spot. Very slowly Alex moved forward keeping the muzzle of the gun low enough to see all of the target, but where he could easily bring it up to fire.

Gently he nudged the man's body with his foot. No movement or any sign of life. He couldn't believe he had just killed another human being. He wasn't sad nor disgusted. All he felt was anger. Not that he was angry at himself, but mostly at the man he had just shot. "I told you to stop goddamn! I warned you three fucking times and you didn't listen!" Alex yelled. Shaking his head and holstering his revolver he started pacing. "Why the hell didn't you listen?" he growled before kicking the corpse one time.

Taking a deep breath while running a hand through his hair he started for the stairs. _It's done. There's nothing I can do about it now. Let's just focus on getting out of here,_ he thought. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he unlocked the door and stepped outside. A cool breeze slipped through his open jacket causing him to shiver. Locking the entrance back once more he slipped the keys to his apartment door and the building's entrance underneath the door.

All was quiet outside and the street was empty. Fires raged in the distance, thick black smoke drifted over the horizon, and thousands of infected citizens roamed the city. However his street was quite peaceful in all the chaos. _Time to get the hell out of dodge,_ Alex thought, _and god help anything that stands in my way._

8:23 PM

"ETA twenty minutes...." the Pilot said.

Joseph Rainer started loading the last few shells into his shotgun. A Remington 870 heavily modified to meet all of his requirements. He clicked the safety and sat it next to him. Everyone in the helicopter was a bit anxious to get on the ground and get this mission over with. They were all the best of the best and the worst of the worst. Basic infantry to special forces officers. Prisoners for political reasons to convicted war criminals. Americans, Russians, Colombians, Bosnians, and other nationalities.

Looking out the window he looked over the city they have come to so-called save; it looked like a living hell. Fires burned in many parts of the city. Abandoned cars and bodies littered the streets. Occasionally he would see a muzzle flash from someone shooting below. Proved some survivors had escaped the devastation were fighting to stay alive. "Sometimes you've got to kick down the devil's door just to save a life." he muttered, taking his time cleaning his Jericho 491 for the last time to making sure he was ready for anything. It was hard to grasp a fool's hope though. Except he had a gambler's luck and years of combat experience on his side.

"Go! Go! Go!" shouted Khoury the team supervisor. Three UBCS Soldiers were already on the ground securing the perimeter. He holstered the Jericho and slung the shotgun across his back. The supervisor was next out and it was Joseph's turn. Taking a quick look at the surroundings of their area of operations he slid down the rope to the pavement waiting below. _Should've picked up a different sling_, he thought as his feet hit the pavement. Looking up at a nearby sign it read Aiken Street.

"Where the hell's that smell coming from?" whispered Parker.

"Don't know. It's somewhere to the North." Joseph answered. Sure enough the wind carried the stench of decay and smoke right to them. It had been faint during his descent from the helicopter. Now it was getting stronger. He knew it wasn't a good sign. Without thinking he hit the safety and stared out across the empty streets. No visible signs of life. Streets looked the same as they had from above. The wind picked up blowing a crumpled newspaper away from them. _Urban western_, he thought with a smile watching it travel down the street like tumbleweed.

A few spent cartridges were lying over on the sidewalk. Dropping to one knee he picked them up with his free hand. Judging by the size they looked to be 5.56 casings. Pretty much what whole platoon carried besides himself and Andy. Minor scratches stood out on the polished brass. Turning them slightly he could see where one of them had been stepped on. The neck area of the case was bent pretty bad. Stamped on the bottom was .223 Rem. _Close_, he thought gently placing them back on the ground. Only two groups of people to carry that type were police and civilians. The cool metal told him they had cleared out a long time ago.

"Cut that line chatter and get back into formation!" Khoury ordered.

Moments later the sound of automatic rifles filled the night air. "Think its from the North-East, Delta Platoon probably." Joseph stated. A single-shot drowned out their sound causing everyone nearby to find cover. Joseph spotted their designated marksman Andy up on a fire escape. Barrel of a large bolt-action rifle resting on the railing. "Hostiles approaching from the East." Andy replied working the rifle's bolt. Joseph watched the spent case fall ground. The sound of it hitting the concrete seemed to echo.

Off in the middle of the street he could see a body of a civilian. Half of their head was missing though. Pitiful moans could be heard not far from their location. "We got movement! South West!" shouted Parker moving back into formation. Sure enough a group of people shambled toward them. Dressed in tattered clothing, covered in blood, and smelling like road kill.

"Open fire!" shouted Khoury. A hail of copper enclosed steel made contact with the decaying mob. Of those that fell some were killed, but the others continued to crawl toward them with inhuman determination. Things were already looking grim with their only chance for escape slipping away. "Fall back, fall back!" yelled the supervisor. _Where to, _Joseph thought. Odds were the other teams had failed to set up a secure perimeter.

More of the undead began to file out into the streets. Closing in from behind them cutting off their best option for escape. As the noose tightened three of the UBCS disappeared into the mass of walking corpses. Their screams and the sound of flesh being stripped from bone couldn't be heard over the gunfire and pitiful moans. The dull roar of the shotgun drowned everything else out. Following every shot was a pattern of twelve .33 caliber pellets that caused untold damage after slamming into each target.

In less than thirty seconds part of the crowd had been hammered into submission. Adrenaline surged through his body as he retrieved a few shells from the pouch on his vest. It seemed to take forever to load them. Everything was spinning out of control. "Move!" he shouted chambering another shell. The rest of them got the idea with Khoury leading the way. Parker was the last to go keeping the advancing undead at bay. When the magazine was empty he grinned before disappearing into the alley. Joseph moved back so the walls of the two building would keep him from being surrounded. Once more the riot gun opened up to hold off the ghoulish horde.

Nothing else existed besides himself, his weapon, and the mob in front of him. He paid no attention as to what they looked like. His mind only took time to register the closest target, whether or not the sights were properly aligned, and when to fire. Everything was silent except the sound of the gun's action cycling. Operation of the slide was a reflex after every shot. The scent of burning gun powder was stronger right then than any other time he had fired the shotgun. Seconds turned to hours. When the firing pin clicked on an empty chamber he drew his sidearm.

The only living humans left in the area were Andy and himself. When the big gun fell silent Joseph knew it was time to leave. Eighty-four souls were laid to rest after the battle on Aiken Street. All but three were dead before the conflict ever took place. More than a hundred wandered the area in search of the living. Their appetite not the least bit slated by the warm bodies lying in the street. Of the twelve UBCS that escaped seven were missing. Only two of those seven survived. The rest were added to the growing army within the city.


	3. Trapped Reflection

September 26, 1998 8:45 PM

_They never give up._ Victor Taranto could tell by the scratching in the hallway outside his door. Occasionally things would quiet down, but the silence did not last very long. _Shooting through the door is an option. Unfortunately that would only make it worse,_ he thought staring at the door. He could almost guess where they would be standing. Even if they were below the average person's height he would still hit something. The sound of the shot would probably draw more, but it was tempting.

Instead he closed his eyes for a moment taking in a healthy dose of heavy metal. The music was turned down low enough that no one outside the room could hear it. He didn't want all of them to crowd the halls in search of it's source. Fighting his way through more than twenty undead cannibals didn't sound like a good plan if he were forced to leave. Even if he made it out of the building he would be seriously low on ammunition. Not the greatest thing to happen in a city full of them and god only knows what other abominations roaming the streets.

Leaning back in his chair and taking a bite out of an apple he stared at the blank computer screen. Power for the building went out two days ago. Until a few hours ago the whole building had been powered by a large generator that was probably going to run out of fuel shortly. During that time period he had kept track of search and rescue operations within the city. Not to mention a few that were attempts to cover up any evidence as to the cause of the outbreak. They were smart, but not smart enough to slip past him.

Luckily he had taken the time to charge his cell phone as well. That was how he had maintained contact with his sister Stacy. She had been on her way home from Raccoon University when the outbreak had hit full force. With the streets too dangerous to continue she along with a number of survivors had taken refuge in the neighborhood church. Pulling up a number of crisis management and FEMA plans he had learned that it was used as a shelter during times of emergency. It still was a long way from his current location. Twenty miles or more with the Circular River between them.

Three RPD officers had been deployed to the area along with one medium level EMT. Last time he had received word the number of infected individuals outside had doubled and they had locked down the entire building. That caused him a great deal of worry. If something were to happen there was no way he could get there in time. Even though he could cover half the distance on foot in hours with the current state of Raccoon it would take a day or two at most. Keeping a steady pace, picking through the destruction to find a safe path, hiding out when fighting isn't an option, having to backtrack when the road ahead is blocked, and other factors to consider.

_Chances are nothing will happen,_ he thought, _even if something does Stacy can take care of herself._ Hard as it was to stomach, it was true. Most of their family had passed on from age, sickness, accidents, and like. All his old comrades were dead, imprisoned, or missing. She was the only person left that he cared about. For that reason he had tried to protect her from the world. Except baby sister wasn't a baby anymore. She had grown up into a strong beautiful woman. It was hard for him to admit that she didn't need big brother to take care of her anymore.

Tossing the apple core in a nearby trash can he got up from his chair to being his routine work out. Concentrating on his breathing he quickly counted off two of the soon to be fifty push ups. Rather simple exercise since he was trying to conserve his energy. Not to mention it helped to ward off most of the worry and keep him in a good mood. A form of meditation if one were to think about it a little more. Last thing he wanted setting in was cabin fever. If that happened any chance of him surviving the mess he was caught up in were slim.

The cell phone rang and Victor sprang to his feet. Muttering a curse after knocking over a bottle of water reaching for it. He chose to answer it before searching for a towel to mop up the spilled water. Even though there was a chance of it damaging the computer that was an acceptable loss to him. "Vic. These things got into the building... Everyone is dead... I don't know how long it will be before they find me." she whispered. By the sound of her voice he could tell she was under a lot of stress. Close to crying. Which shook him up a great deal. He could hear a few muffled screams in the background. Odds were she was in a closet of some sort.

"Don't have much time. Get out of the city while you can."

"We're leaving together. Just keep quiet and hang in there." he said walking to the other side of his living room. Hanging above the television was a rather large portrait of the "Last Supper". Religion was something he did not care for, but it was a gift from his sister so he kept it. While holding the phone to his ear with one hand he removed the picture from the wall and leaned it against the television. Barely visible were pencil markings outlining where the painting had been. "I'm on my way out. See you soon."

"Good bye Vic. Love you."

"Love you too Sis." he answered before she cut off the phone. He did not know what had attacked the church. He only knew he would need more than a pistol to clear the building. Drawing the knife from the sheath on his belt he cut through the dry wall. Carefully following the outline he had previously made. After the cut had been made he removed the section and set it off to the side along with a pile of insulation. Hidden within the wall was something that would result in a lot of trouble if anyone besides himself found it. A short barrel selective-fire AR-type rifle along with seven thirty round magazines. Lightly oiled and sealed in plastic to protect it from moisture. Eleven boxes of ammunition was sealed in another bag separate from everything else

It was going to be a very long night.

September 26, 1998 9:23PM

The smell, something he'd never forget for as long as he lived. It wasn't the pool of blood, urine, and rotting flesh outside. Instead it was the musty smell of old books, files, and newspaper crammed onto the surrounding shelves. Strange that after all that had happened something so simple bothered him. Of course he had been in the small crowded room for well over twenty four hours. His left hand had lost all feeling in it after being subject to a vice like grip. For someone so small she had a great deal of strength. Fear brought out unusual things in people.

He knew something bad was going to happen. Many unusual things had been happening over the past few weeks. A lot of people had been staying home from school sick. Those who did show up sick looked half-dead. Sometimes drifting off leaving their pale sullen faces with a blank stare. Manners against scratching one's self in public were dropped due to a severe skin condition. The new city wide curfew had been put into effect a few days ago. No one was to be out on the streets after nine o'clock. Not to mention his dad stressing him being home from school well before curfew. All the window shutters had to be pulled down and all the doors locked after he got home. The doors were not to be opened for anyone for any reason. Personally he thought it had something to do with the search and rescue mission conducted by S.T.A.R.S. in the mountains.

Of course part of that seriously conflicted with his every day stops at the library. He always got home just an hour before curfew. His dad was never home long enough to notice his absence. Always drifting off every afternoon only to make it back home around three in the morning. Sometimes his dad didn't come back for days on end. Usually a short note was left saying he had to leave due to something work related. A little money for pizza or Chinese food was stuck on the refrigerator, with the little cow magnet he hated so much, next to the note.

Eventually things started to really get bad in the Uptown area. A body found every morning, or at least what was left of one. There was one incident to break the pattern. An empty cab was found in neighborhood after a resident called the police after hearing screams in the night. Every window busted out, a door ripped off the vehicle, and few empty shell casings in the driver's seat. No signs of the driver or their passengers except torn bloody seats, an empty gun, and a woman's shoe. This was followed by home invasions. Signs of forced entry, furniture thrown helter skelter, and ravaged bodies of the occupants. Some were missing. A survivor who hid in a closet reported seeing one of their dead relatives rise after the attack then walk outside and disappear into the night.

Just by watching the late night news he could tell it wouldn't be long before attacks started taking place in the day time. He needed some way to protect himself. Guns and ammo his dad owned were locked up in the safe. He had no idea what the combination was either. Fortunately there was one gun that wasn't locked up. For a while it rested inside a hollowed out copy of The Stand by Stephen King on the bookshelf inside the study. Forgotten by his father ever since it was placed there many years ago. He had found it year before last while looking for a new book to read. It was a small automatic pistol with Beretta .380 ACP stamped on the side. Wasn't the best in the world, but it was better than nothing at all.

It took a few nights for him to become familiar with how it worked. He knew enough not to let the end of the barrel point toward him and to keep his finger off the trigger while doing so. Then a couple more books from the library on how to use it. There were three magazines including the one in the gun. He counted thirty-seven cartridges all together. Each one with a small hollow inside the center of the bullet. Surprisingly the gun felt really good in his hand even with the rough wooden grips. Like it had been made especially for him. The sights were so crisp and clear he had no problem moving them onto a target as quickly as possible. Pulling the trigger on an empty chamber felt a little weird. Though it wasn't hard to get use to.

With a means for personal protection taken care of he slipped the gun into his bag and headed out for school the next morning after sunrise. Less people on the streets as it had been since everything started to get really bad. It was a cold cloudy day. With a slight chance of rain judging by the color of the clouds. A few sick people here and there. He made sure to keep his distance from them. Last thing he wanted was to get sick with whatever they had. Up ahead a pale man in a gray business suit started coughing into a handkerchief. The lady in black not too far behind him seemed to be in another world. Slowly drifting from one side of the sidewalk to the other. Taking light steps. Neither one of them paid him any attention as he passed him.

A nasty looking bandage stood out on the man's left hand. Wrapped right between the index finger and thumb. Stained with blood and pus. It looked infected going by the swelling and weird reddish color of the area around the wound. Although he couldn't tell what type of wound it was. Something was really wrong with them. He didn't know what it was, but he new it wasn't a new strain of the flu. A certain scene from Night of The Living Dead popped up in the back of his mind. The part where Jonny and Barbara noticed the old man in the cemetery before they were attacked. Once he had covered a fair amount of distance he glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn't being followed by them. Neither changed their current direction. Without any hesitation he picked up a slight jog and didn't stop.

Luckily he made it through the day without drawing too much attention to himself. For most of the day he almost forgot about having the pistol inside his backpack. Only reminded a few times after crossing the path of an RPD officer who patrolled the halls. A slight twinge of guilt over breaking a major school rule. He could live with it given the current state of the city. It would be something he truly would not regret later on in the future. As soon as school let out be made a quick circle to the back entrance and headed straight to the library.

Didn't take long for him to get there. With a partial attendance of the usual crowd that hung out there. The librarians, gaggle of students from the university, a few over-achievers from his school, and of course Anna. Above average athlete, child prodigy like himself, total knock out, and his secret crush for the past seven years. She usually helped out at the library after school. Trouble shooting any computer or filing issues they might have. All while brushing up on biology, medical stuff, and bio-chem for her future attendance at Raccoon University.

That was when everything start to go down hill rather quickly. Two police cars pulled up and four officers got out. One of them carrying a shotgun. Some of the patrons in the library started moving toward the door. One of the officers blocked the door and everyone stopped. "Ladies and gentlemen. It's not exactly safe to be out on the streets at this hour. There is rioting on the streets not too far from here. We're trying to contain it, but we're going to leave two officers here for your safety. Please remain calm and stay inside the building."

_Holy crap has life been busy. Takes me to be in a whole other part of the world for me to finally post this. Who knows how long it will take me to post another chapter._


	4. First Meeting: Citizen and The Soldier

September 26, 1998 10:30 PM

There were so many of them. While martial law had been declared and extensive news coverage of the riots the previous day he had no idea it was this bad. Every street littered with corpses. Walking or otherwise. They were in almost every building and every alley way. Slowly Alex made his way through the labyrinth of alley ways, side streets, and store fronts. Always cautious of anything lurking around a corner or behind a window.

Every now and then he would have to make a run for it. Only that left many a chance for him to find a dead end or barricade. Already he had burned through a couple of his ten round magazines only a few hours ago after making a wrong turn with a group of ghouls on his tail. He wasn't about to make the same mistake twice. The next few might turn out to be fatal. It also taught him a little about what kind of threat he was dealing with. The "zombies" were able to take severe punishment without going down. A shot to the head or spine dropped them quickly. They would still go down if enough damage was inflicted to the body.

As he neared the end of the alley he spotted another across the street. The area in front of him was clear. Slowly he moved up the end of the wall. No sign of anything for at least twenty yards to the left. The trailer from a large transfer truck was tipped over on it's side blocking that end of the street. He turned and peeked around the corner to check out the other end of the street. A few bodies. _Now or never_, he thought. From what he could see there was no threat to be found.

Slowly he moved out into the street. As he crossed over the mutilation of the bodies became more noticeable. It looked to be the work of an animal than a zombie. What the hell, he thought moving closer to get a better look. A low growl whispered from underneath a nearby car. More were heard. Up the street a dog slowly began to creep into view. Glancing underneath the car he made eye contact with a German Shepard missing most of it's fur and skin. His eyes dropped to the toothy maw before he swung his rifle around and fired off a shot. The sound of trash cans being knocked over caused him to bolt.

There was a blur at the corner of his eye. Claws skittered on the pavement as it missed him. Fuck, he thought as he stopped short in the alley way. A large barricade loomed in front of him. Someone had parked a panel truck in the entrance, flattened the tires, and kicked all sorts of rubbish around the bottom. Another growl was heard. Slowly turning he spotted a door to his right. He tried turning the handle. It didn't move. _Shit, shit shit_, he thought shaking the door. Something clanged on the other side and it swung inward.

Alex practically dove inside. Hitting the floor he quickly kicked it shut and held it there with his legs. Looking to his left the hallway was clear. A section of angle iron from a railing was lying on the floor. He assumed it was what held the door shut. Snatching it up he felt something slam into the door. "No kibbles and bits for you." he muttered jamming the section of metal between the door and the wall bracing it shut. Slowly he rose to his feet trying to get a feel for what kind of building he was in.

Pulling the flashlight off his belt he switched it on for a second. Making sure the red lens was in place before leaving it on. A piece of cork board nailed to the wall held a collage of paperwork. Sticky notes, memos, and lists of shipping dates. All of it suggested some kind of warehouse. The broken lock suggested someone might have gained entrance before he did. More reason for him to stay on his toes. There were no blood stains on the wall or the floor. Nor was there any trash or debris scattered about. A good sign at least.

Hopefully he would be able to find a radio or some other way to gather information about a safe place within the city. Either that or some place where they evacuated civilians. What few police checkpoints he had run across were abandoned. Leaving him to assume the entire RPD had pulled back to the Cedar District. He was fairly certain main street was a death trap to be avoided at all costs. Even though there were a few places where he could cross, but that was only if the side streets were empty.

With the rifle slung across his back he started moving deeper into the warehouse. Gently he pushed open the door at the end of the hall. Keeping the revolver trained on the dead space. All was quiet in the next room. Boxes on top of shipping pallets were stacked neatly in the middle of the room. A forklift was parked beside the large shipping doors. A set of steps ascended to an office to his left. _Good place to start looking_, he thought. He paused for a moment to check one of the boxes. Uspirim and the Umbrella logo were printed in bold on the shipping label. "Too bad I don't have a headache." he chuckled.

Same time...

Things are not looking good. That was the thought that stuck in Joseph's mind. He had stumbled onto the warehouse earlier by pure luck. It was empty and easy to secure. Which made it ideal for a brief rest and a few seconds to assess the situation. He had been separated from his platoon after Aiken Street was overrun. Khoury had the map. So he was forced to run blind through the alley ways hoping to catch up with someone or find a rally point. Unfortunately everyone was lost in the urban sprawl. His radio wasn't working on top of that.

The Clock Tower was the main staging area and evacuation point. As far as he knew he was long way from reaching it. Especially with the rate of infection within the city. He had yet to see a single living person. So far all he encountered for ten square miles was the walking dead. Along with other nightmares in the little shop of horrors he had fast roped into. Hideous insect like creatures nearly two feet taller than he stood and spiders the size of rottweilers. Along with skinless reptilian creature he spotted crawling up the side of an apartment building.

So far he was pretty good on ammunition. Almost fifty shotgun shells. Mixed slug and buckshot. Four magazines for his pistol. He'd have to hang onto those as long as he could. 9mm cartridges would be plenty, but magazines for the Jericho would be about as common as a two dollar bill. Walking over to the window he peeked down into the storage area. A small red light moved from the door up to the office. He couldn't make out the person holding it, but he was dead certain they were armed. It was next to impossible for anyone to make it this far in the city unarmed. Hopefully someone who could help him get to the Clock Tower.

As the sound of foot steps on the stairs grew louder Joseph flattened himself against the wall next to the door. When the door creaked open the first thing he spotted as the barrel of a gun. When the arm holding it appeared he grabbed their wrist and snatched them through the threshold. Tearing the revolver from their grasp he felt a sharp pain in his shin causing him to drop it. With a low yelp he grabbed them by the shoulder and neck before hurling them into the room. His assailant hit the ground side first and slid across the floor. The flashlight slid back behind the desk.

Before they could ready the rifle they pulled off their person Joseph tore across the room making a grab at the weapon. To his surprise they tossed it to the side, grabbed the collar of his vest, and yanked him down to the floor. The stranger was on their feet right as he recovered. Plowing into their mid-section Joseph lifted them off the floor and slammed them down onto the desk. Right as he let go there was a bright flash of light and he stumbled back. He lifted his arms just in time to block a drawer from the desk that was hurled at him. All he could see was red as he heard the hammer of a gun being cocked.

"You want this to continue?" the stranger asked. Glancing to the side of the room Joseph could see the rifle and the revolver. Too far for him to make a move for them. Not without catching some lead. The gun must have come out of the drawer. Slowly he raised his hands. "That's better." Both flashlight and gun were lowered. The stranger turned out to be a civilian going by the blue jeans and beat up leather jacket. Most unusual piece of clothing was the bandoleer and patrol belt. Loaded down with ammunition. _Didn't know I picked a fight with a modern day Pancho Villa_, Joseph thought.

"You're lucky. I usually shoot at lights." Joseph said with an amused smirk. It was partially true. In an dangerous area with armed men looking for him, he wouldn't hesitate to fire on someone running around with a flashlight. Fortunately for the stranger the outbreak had changed that operating procedure. He wasn't about dust another person. Unless they shot at him first. Slowly he lowered his hands and glanced at the floor. A keyboard broken in half was lying on the floor. With most of the keys scattered around. Of all the things to get hit with, he thought, a fucking keyboard. "Do I get a name or do I get to call you Pancho?" he asked.

"Alexander Paulson. Alex to keep it short and sweet." the stranger answered. It was hard to tell under the red light, but it looked like Alex would have passed for his younger brother. If Joseph had one that is. "I take it that's your scatter gun over there in the corner?" Alex asked nodding the his 870 propped up against the wall. He left it there thinking it would get in the way when he tried to subdue Alex. It was hard enough to fight the guy empty handed. With a weapon getting it would have been a nightmare. "Surprised you didn't go for it after tossing me across the floor like a Great Dane using a Chihuahua for a chew toy."

"I wanted you alive. Got a little bit of a problem here." Joseph smiled. Taking a few steps back he picked up the shotgun and slung it over his shoulder. A little problem still seemed like a little bit of an overstatement. "I got cut off from my platoon. Never set foot in this city until today. I've got no map and my radio is dead. Sadly you're the only living civilian I've run across so far. Luckily for you my job is find survivors, keep them safe, and get them to the evacuation point. Lucky for me you're a resident here. Which means I've got a guide now. So what do you say we stick together and get the hell out of this city? Fair deal is it not?"

"Fair enough. You a cop? Military?" Alex asked? He lowered the hammer on the revolver and slipped it into his pocket. Clipping the flashlight onto his belt he moved across the room to retrieve his weapons. Joseph made no move to stop him. There was no reason to. Even with the little scuffle both knew it would be best to stick together than risk another fight. One where neither of the two would leave the room alive. They needed each other to get out of the city as well. Alex as a guide and Joseph to get him out of the city itself.

"Neither. Private security service. Umbrella Biological Countermeasure Service."Joseph answered. He walked over to the corner and picked up his shotgun. Giving it a quick check before slinging it on his shoulder. "We were sent to help local law enforcement keep a handle on things. As well as to conduct search and rescue operations within Raccoon. You can see how well that is going so far." he explained. "The outbreak was a little bigger than we had expected." _Now that's a major understatement on my part_, he thought.

"So far I have seen no trace of Raccoon's finest. Other than a few road blocks, barricades, and abandoned check points. You're the first I've seen of military. Yes, you're military I've worked with your type before. I'm guessing jar head by the way your demeanor and the way you talk." Alex grinned. It was a little surprising to Joseph that his branch of service had been uncovered so easily. There was something usual about the civilian he was dealing with. Always possible he could have been prior service. The end of the Cold War and Desert Storm was a bad day for the military. Which was why the military's grasp on the situation at hand wasn't so firm.

"How about yourself? You don't exactly look the type, but you seem like it." Joseph asked. Watching Alex walk around to the desk and start digging through the drawers. He shrugged before pulling out a box of pistol cartridges and slipped them into his pocket. Fishing through the junk again he was rewarded with a Zippo lighter. "Smoking is bad for you. Then again I think it would be the least of my worries in a city filled with the walking dead." he joked.

"Not military. Not even in the boy scouts. While I do love the deal about always being prepared." Alex said. With the scavenging done he started moving toward the door. "Grand dad was in the Army. Long time ago. About as close as I get to any branch of service. I'm just your average ordinary tax paying law abiding citizen. Who's seen a lot of crazy shit, has done a lot of crazy shit, and has a lot of tricks up his sleeve. Don't smoke and you can already tell I fight dirty." he added sweeping some of the loose buttons from the keyboard to the side.

"Well. Now that all this is out the way I suggest we get a move on. Lead, follow, or step aside." he laughed as he chambered a fresh round into the shotgun.

_Well.... Slowly but surely I'm finally putting this little story together. Hope you enjoyed it. Until next time..._

_-Sanchez-_


End file.
